'I left this tech-mad world... to become a babe in the woods!': Ever dreamed of leaving it all behind? Read hilarious account by modern hermit Emma Parker Bowles

As I blow out the candle and snuggle up in my sleeping bag on my first night living in the forest, I feel relaxed and happy.

I lie still and take it all in; the sounds and smell of the wilderness. I am an escapee from Los Angeles, and the smog and pollution of the city are but a memory. Now I live deep in California’s Los Padres National Forest.

From every window of my Airstream vintage caravan, all I can see are trees instead of concrete, and through their leafy fingers the full moon shines down on me.

Back to nature: Emma in her Airstream vintage caravan with one of the four dogs she took on her wilderness retreat. She lived without electricity in the vehicle - which she called Lucy Diamonds - for the first three months

There is no drone of traffic, there are no police sirens, and instead of a helicopter circling above, there are owls fluttering through the night sky. I can hear the chirp-chirp of crickets, the ribbet-ribbet of the frogs, the distant roar of a mountain lion…

WHAT?! I sit bolt upright. Again, I hear a grrrrr-roar.

Yes, definitely a mountain lion, unless it is a coyote with a cold. A mountain lion? Don’t they eat people?

I knew there were bears out there, and coyotes, but nobody said anything about a bloody mountain lion. Luckily I have my four dogs with me and the only thing I know about mountain lions is that they are afraid of dogs.

RELATED ARTICLES

Share this article

Share

So what on earth am I doing here? Am I having a mid-life crisis, a bat’s squeak away from the big 4-0? Am I atoning for my days as a petrol-headed, speed-loving motoring journalist by choosing a new ecologically responsible lifestyle? Am I on the run from the law?

Nothing as exciting, I am afraid. I am trying to write my first novel and, as the world’s most easily distracted person, at the rate I am going I will be rolling up to my book launch on a motorized scooter wheezing into an oxygen tank.

Honestly, I am pathetic. I have the attention span of a mosquito and I have met five-year-olds with more self-discipline. Sometimes I wonder how I made it so far in life.

So in my usual extreme all-or- nothing way, where I jump in feet first, I decided the obvious solution was to buy an Airstream and go and live in the forest and not come out again until I had finished.

'My Jo Malone candle smelled nice, but wasn’t great for seeing in the forest, so there was a lot of stubbing of toes and bumping into stuff'

So now I am a boondocker. Which means I am living out in the sticks with no electricity, mobile reception or internet access.

This isn’t just living off-the-grid, more off-my-bloody-rocker.

My 1966 Airstream Sovereign does have the capability to run electricity, plumbing and running water, but for this you need ‘hook-ups’ and somewhere to empty your waste tanks. I have always lived by the motto ‘go big, or go home’ so for the first two months I did without all three.

I have always wanted a vintage Airstream and I will spare you the trials and tribulations of how I acquired Lucy Diamonds, as I call her, but suffice to say one day I was living in a cute cottage with mod cons, and the next I was like Goldilocks in a dark forest with the big bad wolf.

My first night of forest living was truly awful, due to poor planning on my part (no batteries in my lights or torch). I was fumbling around in the dark, my only illumination being a Jo Malone candle. It smelled nice, but wasn’t great for seeing in the forest, so there was a lot of stubbing of toes and bumping into stuff.

The worst thing was having no television. After it got dark at 7pm I thought: ‘Now what?’ I love my TV, and going cold turkey was brutal.

I couldn’t even get started on my stack of books. It was like the night I spent in jail, but with thicker blankets. This was a little more rustic than I had bargained for.

Walk on the wild side: Emma takes a stroll in the forest with one of her dogs. She drove into town once a day to pick up emails and make telephone calls, and found the quality of both became infinitely more satisfactory

I must confess, for the first week I went a little feral. I don’t mean running around on all fours and howling at the moon feral, but there might have been a bit of naked moon-bathing, running wild through the woods with my dogs and eating with my bare hands. And, I must be honest, a lack of personal grooming. And bathing.

I decided to test my friend’s theory that if you don’t wash your hair for long enough it washes itself. It doesn’t. It just turns into a matted, stinky Worzel Gummidge-style mess.

I didn’t even look in a mirror for a week. When I finally did, thinking I would be looking rather glowing and tanned and natural, I got an awful shock. I looked like a wizened dried up raisin-face. With comedy eyebrows.

I soon pulled myself together. Fun as it was living like a crazy cavewoman, it is not conducive to getting anything done. One thing about forest living I have discovered is that you must be organised and have a routine, neither of which are my strong suits.

Most of my stuff is in storage, but the essentials are all packed in boxes in my Airstream. That is the good thing about being ‘trailer trash’, you can haul your belongings with you.

'It was like the night I spent in jail, but with thicker blankets. This was a little more rustic than I had bargained for'

And what a place to live, if your happy place is in nature. The Los Padres National Forest is truly beautiful. It is vast – 1,950,000 acres – and 88 per cent of it is public land.

It is wild and unspoiled and home to rare birds such as the California condor and peregrine falcon, those mountain lions, black bears and bobcats.

I got an Adventure Pass which is valid for one year for $30 and it means you can camp in an abundance of locations, perhaps around other boondockers or in a more remote location where your friends will be furry and feathered.

Another wonderful thing about the Airstream is that you can just pack up and drive away if you fancy a change of scenery.

It has certainly been a steep learning curve. However, I have learned a lot from the wide variety of forest friends I have made who have passed through.I also need to give a big shout out to my friends on airforums.com, an online community of Airstream owners who have saved me on many occasions.

As much as I would like to tell you that I have donated my mobile and laptop to the needy, I am a long, long way from home and need to talk to my family and friends. And I don’t fancy writing my novel on a typewriter.

So I drive into town once a day to pick up emails and make telephone calls, and actually the quality of both has become infinitely more satisfactory.

I no longer email, make a telephone call and paint my nails at the same time. As a result, the emails I do send are more thoughtful and considered and my telephone conversations are a treat instead of a habit.

However my novel writing was limited by the amount of battery on my laptop – I wrote for however long it remained charged for, which isn’t long enough.

And when the heatwave came and even in the forest temperatures hit 100 degrees, I couldn’t take it any more. I nearly lost my mind.

'I don’t want to sound like a new-agey weirdo, but I can tell you that the forest has healed me'

And how much novel-writing could I do when I spent the majority of time sitting in the river trying to cool off? I looked longingly at my Airstream’s air-conditioning unit, which I knew worked.

I threw in the towel, buzzed back to civilisation and practically crawled into the Honda shop.

I must confess, the collecting of firewood and building camp-fires every night was getting a bit old hat and things were much easier with power.

I do have propane tanks, but the Airstream’s copper piping looked a bit dodgy and I didn’t fancy blowing myself up.

Now, instead of bathing in the river, I can heat up water on my portable stove and squash myself into the horse-feeding tub I use as a bath. But I still spend a lot of time by the river or under the waterfall.

Very near where I am located is a Chumash Indian burial ground. One of my friends here is a Chumash elder and I had already become slightly obsessed with their culture.

So as I was washing my smalls in the stream (with eco-friendly soap) I rather fancied myself as the character Stands With A Fist from Dances With Wolves.

In fact, I spent a lot of time thinking about what my Native American name would be. My friend rather unkindly suggested Vomits In River after a rather unfortunate episode involving ‘forest belly’ that we don’t need to go into. Let’s just say, I wouldn’t recommend nettle soup to anyone.

There have been other scary moments, mainly insect related. Such as a scorpion in my shoe and waking up to a brown recluse spider dangling above my face. Not so reclusive, it turns out.

But really my life is stress-free. Not only is it very cheap, but having zero bills is an absolute delight.

And a combination of eating really healthily – a lot of vegetables because they don’t perish – and all the fresh air means I am glowing with rude health.

However, honestly, the hardest thing has been living in my own head, which is sometimes like a hive of bees.

And I have felt more feelings and cried more in four months than I have in a lifetime. (May I recommend quite literally hugging a tree when you next need to have a good cry.)

Without the usual distractions and brain-numbing activities I normally get up to, I have had no escape from my thoughts and feelings, which has been more hardcore and scary than any scorpion.

I am one of those people who bottles up their emotions and I also know I hadn’t grieved properly for the people I lost in the past few years. I don’t want to sound like a new-agey weirdo, but I can tell you that the forest has healed me and what I have gained from this experience far outweighs what I have given up.

As Frank Lloyd Wright said: ‘Study nature, love nature, stay close to nature. It will never fail you.’